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Revolver's Revelations
Revolver's Revelations Revolver and Interrogator ''' '''Cobra Island HQ Security Level 08-13-2018 America Burning; Out of Luck TP ''' '''Interrogator interrogates Revolver Category:2018 Category:America Burning TP Category:Out of Luck TP Category:Logs ''As logged by Interrogator '' 08-13-2018 WAY wee hours of the morning. Security Level - Cobra Island This bleak room is always occupied by a pair of Viper guards. The floor is laid with deep grey tiles that echo the slightest sound. An operative sits behind a small desk to record new arrivals and releases. Prisoners and anyone deserving of punishment are brought to this area for incarceration and/or interrogation. Interrogator is in his interrogation room at Cobra HQ. All the code-named G.I. Joe prisoners were brought to the holding cells, and he heard there was a high value prisoner. He waits while the Security Vipers bring in the operative known as Revolver. Sid "Revolver" Canterbury, GI Joe's Foreign Office liaison, was a highly trained member of British intelligence that had been attached to GI Joe to function as America's connection to the European Union. He had been captured by Cobra fleeing the Langley complex, with a briefcase full of highly secure information related to GI Joe's field agents in hiding in America. The code-names, contact methods, and specialties were all listed in the electronic dossier, as well as their handler positions inside the country. With Revolver missing, a mass series of signals had gone out to field operatives to alter methodology, the signals not listed in the electronic data-bank, along with the methodology alterations, in case of capture of the agent list. Still, Revolver was a high value prisoner indeed. Dressed in his torn black guerrilla outfit, sans his vest and now in shackles, he was marched into the interrogation room. With the manner of an Irish priest, however unafraid and a glossy look of a psychopath on his gentle eyes, he stared directly at Interrogator's mirrored face-mask, picking a point directly behind Interrogator's head to focus through. Interrogator sizes up the prisoner for a moment as the Security Vipers, leaving on the shackles, begin to strap Revolver into the interrogation chair in the cold, sterile room. There is a tray with various filled syringes on it, and a few threatening looking machines. Interrogator moves into the man’s field of vision and says, "Canterbury, I've worked intelligence long enough to know that there were safeguards in place in case of your briefcase's capture. If you willingly give up the whereabouts of the operatives contained within, I can try to spare you from the Brainwave Scanner." Revolver doesn't fight as he's locked into the interrogation chair, merely staring sedately at Interrogator, keeping his point of vision fixed at the very back of Interrogator's skull. "You very well know, Interrogator, that I'm not briefed on that information, in case of capture," comes a quiet British murmur, as he resolutely stares into his own reflection. He's almost reptilian, the life under the Protestant orders of Britain apparent to create countrymen and women that will do anything to support the British Crown. As an accountant spy qualified as an assassin and wiretap specialist, Revolver is particularly resigned to his fate. Interrogator says in his calm, relaxing baritone as he activates the sensors in his helmet, "There are the things you know, and then the things you /know/. While it is true that you are not briefed on that intelligence, there are things you pick up as you went about your days. Why don't we walk through a typical day for you?" Revolver lays limp, but still giving Interrogator danger signals apparent from the sensors in the helmet. Revolver's blood pressure is low and his heart is calm, but his palms are slick with the perspiration that indicates murderous intent if nowhere else on his body - which is the case. "If you wish, Interrogator. I'm just an accountant, but if you wish to help your Crimson Guardsmen train for careers after Cobra, go ahead." The resistance is made once the baritone comes, a deliberate stress position to create dissonance between the baritone vox and Interrogator's patter, if Revolver can get Interrogator to play his game. GAME: Interrogator PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of High difficulty. Interrogator has been versed in British Counter Interrogation methods and recognizes the signals Revolver is broadcasting. He is aware that Revolver is trying to throw him off and knows better than to fall for the 'Simple Accountant' bit. He says in a gentle tone that belies the sinister sterility of the room, "Let's imagine that you are going about a normal day. You easily remember the day before your capture and can visualize everything you experienced. Cooperating, but covertly resisting without an alteration to his vitals besides a slight tightening of his fists to indicate his anger, he stares directly forward at Interrogator. "I live by a standard routine, every day. Wake up at 0500, do half an hour of calisthenics, ten minutes of aerobics, floss, brush my teeth, shower for seven minutes, shave for three. At 0600, I leave for the office, where you found me." He leaves out his individual location inside the compound, and duty, with seamless lack of worry. Interrogator activates his helmet's subtle hypnotizing properties and says, "Imagine you are in your office and relaxing momentarily. You can easily recall what you were working on and naturally want to explain to me everything you were doing before relaxing." GAME: Revolver PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of High difficulty. GAME: Revolver PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of Immense difficulty. Revolver quietly curls his fingers into his palms, digging his smooth, clipped nails into his wet skin, inducing a pain position without showing it on his face as he drifts into a semi-somatic state. "I was working on infrastructure issues related to the occupation of American cities by Cobra." He appears to be cooperating, except for the subtle markers on his restrained hands. GAME: Interrogator PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of Immense difficulty. Interrogator asks with gentle concern, "Would you like some water? I have some bottled and it is better than what they have been giving you and might help you relax. Imagine how good some bottled water will taste right now." GAME: Revolver FAILS a COURAGE roll of Extreme difficulty. Revolver's mouth cuts to the side as he clenches his teeth in annoyance, his mouth opening on the left side. "Very well," he growls lowly. Interrogator reaches into a refrigerator and takes out a bottle of water. He presents it for Revolver's inspection before opening it and holding it up to the man's lips. While it appears to be a perfectly innocent bottle of water, Revolver might notice there are a few small drops that could be coming from a puncture by a very small needle in the bottle. GAME: Revolver PASSES a TECHNICAL roll of Extreme difficulty. Revolver takes a shallow, very shallow sip, tasting that the water is probably drugged, and smoothly quaffs the tiny bit of water down his windpipe instead of his throat, taking the sip of water into his lungs. He tenses up, pretending as if he's fighting the drug, instead of being visibly disturbing at inhaling H20. GAME: Interrogator FAILS a TECHNICAL roll of Extreme difficulty. Interrogator does not notice that Revolver has taken the water into his lungs and says gently and calmly, "Now, imagine your coworkers. You are in the break room. You easily recall any information that might be of interest to me and automatically begin to tell me about it." GAME: Revolver FAILS an INTELLIGENCE roll of Very High difficulty. Revolver's face turns red as he attempts to process the precipitation in his lungs, his fists clenching as he growls, "I once had German measles in Krakow." He exhales hard, and slumps forward, before lazily slumping backwards, now obvious that he's faking some other effect than being on the drug in question. He must not recognize the taste. "We all work in finance. Accountants, stockbrokers, commodity experts, currency analysts...Most of us dress in suits, jackets or pantsuits." He's holding back considerably. Interrogator's body language shifts to one of momentary annoyance. Perhaps because he's been pushing himself since Friday night in an attempt to impress Cobra Commander and be brought back into his inner circle and Revolver is the first /real/ challenge he's had. It is only momentarily though, as he relaxes and increases the helmet's hypnotic projections a bit The drug was code-named by the Soviets as SP-117 and was known as "The remedy which loosens the tongue" and has no taste, smell, or color. Interrogator says gently, "Relax and take some time to recover. German Measles is a serious disease and I do not wish to have harm come to you and then you can easily explain to me what you need to release to relax and feel better." GAME: Revolver PASSES a COURAGE roll of High difficulty. Revolver grins with his red face, veins protruding on his skull and his unshaven face and faintly overgrown head of coal black hair. He produces a strained chuckle, his grimacing amusement plain. The water is still bothering him, even if it's not processing through his stomach for the intended effect. "I didn't know Cobra hired proctologists to figure out the American government. Looks like you're smarter than ol' Jack thought." GAME: Interrogator PASSES a COURAGE roll of High difficulty. Interrogator says with an easy smile in his voice, "There's no need for name calling now, is there? We both know that the strain you are under can be relieved by simply telling me what I need to know to keep you safe and how unhealthy it is to keep things bottled up." GAME: Revolver PASSES an INTELLIGENCE roll of Above Average difficulty. Revolver tilts his head backwards, looking up at the ceiling. "Well, Interrogator, I could tell you about what I've been holding in." And then, he lurches forward, vomiting at the armored Cobra psychiatrist, directly person to person. After, he hangs forward, before slapping his head back in the restraints. He knows he's been pinned down in terms of his standard interrogation evasion, and now, methods will increase in persuasion. His only hope is to unsteady Interrogator's hand by playing on the secret fear of all psychologists: being untidy. That's why a nurse personality, and a doctor personality, are classified separately. Nurses are afraid of losing time, and doctors are afraid of bacterial vectors. Revolver has always thought that nurses should be journalists, and doctors should be engineers, but he's got an unusual background and a busy day. GAME: Interrogator PASSES an AGILITY roll of Immense difficulty. GAME: Interrogator FAILS a COURAGE roll of Immense difficulty. With the grace of an expert combat pilot, Interrogator dodges the vomit, but now it is his turn to clench his fists as he hisses, "You're only going to make this hard on you. Actions do have consequences" He leaves the room and a Security-Viper enters to clean up the mess. "It's going to be hard on me already," Revolver says with a thick exhale, letting his head relax. After the Security-Viper cleans up the vomit and exits, Interrogator returns. His body language appears to be relaxed, but there is a slightly forced quality to it. He says simply, "Actions have consequences" and takes a tourniquet from the tray and rolls up Revolver's sleeve. "I'm assuming you aren't going to kill me today, so let's take our time," Revolver responds as his sleeve is rolled up, closing his eyes and mentally reciting an Anglican prayer to St. Michael that he was taught as a child, after the death of his parents by his own perceived lapse. Interrogator says gently, "There is no reason for anyone to die today, is there? There is also no need to resist the inevitable." He ties off the tourniquet and takes a needle from the tray. He pushes in the plunger to expel any air that might be in it before expertly giving Revolver a dose of the SP-117. GAME: Interrogator PASSES a TECHNICAL roll of High difficulty. Revolver's neck strains forward in cords as he feels the needle insert, clenching his jaw. Soon, he's reciting the prayer out loud, in a perambulating loop. Interrogator gently strokes Revolvers cheek as he increases his helmet's hypnotic output and says in a thoughtfully friendly tone, "That prayer means a lot to you, will you tell me why?" "Saint Michael is the head of the choir of the Malakim, the warrior angels, you communist f**k," Revolver hisses. "I failed at war once, and a sodomite killed my parents." Interrogator steps back and says conversationally, "I learn new things every day, don't you? It is obvious you love your parents and cherish their memory. Would you tell me about your failure because it will feel good to release your pain." "I went out the store to get some milk for the cat, and a burglar killed both of them," he hisses, his eyes red with protruding veins, the glossy psychopathic sheen replaced with pure tremoring hatred of a God-fearing soldier of the apocalypse. "I've never owned a cat again. Filthy things." Interrogator says sympathetically, "That was hard on you and you must fear failing those you love again. I believe I understand why you are resisting me. It is because you fear Cobra will harm your Comrades, but is it not better we try to capture them as gently as possible? I'm sure you agree that it is better to use a scalpel than a chainsaw." Revolver sneers, rolling his head around in his restraint and freeing up some room for his scalp, showing his left cheek. "Actually, I just don't have any idea what I can tell you, and I know they'll disappoint me in terms of managing a decent return on the investment of recruiting, training, and feeding them, versus the like value of the soldiers they kill when you capture each, given Cobra's poor financial investment in their own soldiers." He looks back at Interrogator, growling. "Where'd they find you, were you a gym coach?" "No, I wasn't a gym coach, but they did a fine job training you.." Interrogator says in a gentle tone. 'So you know nothing of anyone's whereabouts? I find it hard to believe someone so clever and observant to be completely lacking in knowledge of even to possible location of operatives." "They'd all have secondary positions, enabling mobility, to pull back to from their undercover posts. That would allow them to continue reconnaissance, with the intention of an extraction by special forces. You'd be looking for a dual Geo-mathematical cipher," Revolver wheezes, helpless to the drug. Interrogator says gently, "Tell me more because you'll be helping me help them. Trust me, I want what is best for them." "You've already got their primary communication bands in the dossier," Revolver groans, aware he's betraying countless operatives. "They'll be using street signals instead, from undercover operatives with various antiquated equipment, to allow them to blend in inside the occupation zones." Interrogator says in an encouraging, approving tone, "Go on, you're doing great. As I said, I'm here to help." "If extraction orders come, the Yankees are getting ready for an escalation in the city. It's too dangerous to pull them out for a de-escalation, with the agent list compromised." Interrogator says thoughtfully, "That sounds wise considering everything. What more can you tell me about their plans?" "That's too compartmentalized," Revolver says with a rasp. "I've only been working at spotting bases. I did recon on your base out in Luck, California, and confirmed it was a Cobra lab. I'm an accounting expert, I spot terrorist operations with financial anomalies, then investigate undercover." Interrogator nods and says, "What else would you like to tell me to ease your mind?" "I don't know anything else," Revolver says breathlessly, looking downwards in exhaustion. Interrogator nods and says, "You have done well, and have saved countless lives. I will take you back to your cell where you can rest. Would you like anything before I leave?" Revolver snickers. "A crossword puzzle." Interrogator says with a chuckle, "I don't think you can be trusted with anything as sharp as a pen or pencil. I'll bring you a book to read."